And So, Dear Friends, Good Night
by Aly Teima
Summary: The end of the HP series, in my mind. Sad material, you are forewarned. Character death.
1. Default Chapter

"And So, Dear Friends, Good Night"

A/N;_ This fic shows what I think will happen at the end of the HP series. It shows that not every story has a happy ending nor do things make sense when we want them to and nothing shows this more clearly than the death of someone we love. I wanted to show the real and true loss that was felt and not gloss over it in any way. If it is depressing then it was meant to be so, I hope it makes you think and appreciate if just for one small moment._

Dust filtered through the window, shining and glittering with each glance. The clouded sunshine was the only light in the golden-hued room.

It was late afternoon.

The dust showed that the Burrow hadn't had a good cleaning for some time.

First, the upheaval of the Second War and then...

The Burrow itself creaked and groaned as though the house itself remembered happier times and grieved for them.

Black curtains draped over the table, the furniture...the clock.

Ronald Bilius Weasley stood stock-still in his older brother, Percy's, old room.

Ron hadn't spoken to Percy for two years and he knew he never would again barring some miracle. Ron couldn't forgive his sanctimonious blowhard of a brother for his ill-treatment, not of himself but of...someone else.

Now, the only opportunity Ron had allowed himself for forgiving Percy had slipped away. But it didn't matter anymore. Ron felt numb and tired, very, very tired.

Time also slipped by in his mind, along with faces. He clung to a few, not knowing why he chose the ones he did or why his mind decided to remember them now, at this particular moment.

Ginny's expression and the deep pain in her brown eyes.

Fred and George standing outside of their closed shop, looking at the sign of 'Closed Until Further Notice'. Diagon Alley deserted behind them.

No one felt like laughing. The shock of seeing George break down and destroy supplies, break windows and scream at the rest of the family that the only reason the shop had been there was now gone, had not faded away with the hours then days that followed.

Fred had held George back, but his mind was far away. He sat at the register for a long time, fingering an old velvet bag. Now the family knew why though Ron had known for years.

Darkened windows at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade blanketed with heavy silence and grief, along with tangible guilt for what could not be undone.

Percy was shunned by all but Molly Weasley. His only chance at redemption was gone as well and he knew it. Any sorrow or grief he could show was tainted and the toll could be seen on him. He avoided the family, his pinched face gray and lined.

As for Molly, she was now constantly distracted, at times staring off into space and crying at random intervals.

The uneasy thing was that they weren't the flurry of hysterical tears that everyone was used to seeing, but deep, soul-wrenching sobs that sounded as though her heart kept breaking over and over again.

She loved him, she had said so, like a son. Now a part of her heart was gone and the entire Weasley clan could feel it, a hole in their family that could not be replaced.

The images became worse yet Ron couldn't stop them, hear in this peaceful, sun-bathed room.

The Order's reaction, the survivors. Remus Lupin. Ron didn't want to remember him, what had happened to him, his reaction. He pushed it away, he couldn't face that memory now. If Sirius had still been alive...but no, that was a thought too terrible to face and one small blessing in a terrible tragedy.

No one was prepared for it, no matter how much they tried to fool themselves. It was still a shockwave of pain and despair that crushed all hopes and left emptiness and laughter-less silence in its wake.

Hermione, his dear girl, was a never-ending fountain of tears. Ron was half-afraid she would dry up and blow away but she never seemed to. She stayed pale and silent, gazing at nothing for better parts of a day.

Ron knew she'd withdrawn into herself for protection. Hermione dealt with logics and fact, she was a brilliant witch despite the surprising fact that the unknown frightened her. There was no book to help her deal with this situation, it was all her own and she didn't have an answer, for the first time in her life.

She was, and would be for a long time, a thousand miles away from Ron. There were some that thought they should share their pain. They were the closest to him, but it was not to be.

Each of them had their own separate trials it turned out, grief so deep that it would drown them both if they tried to combine it. So, they stood apart to survive, for the first time in seven years they only depended on themselves.

That awful memory now returned, Ron had not found solace from here. All those grieving faces, Neville, Hagrid, Luna, Tonks, even Dumbledore, while he would never be able to forget their reactions, he kept coming back to the one.

True, Dumbledore looked broken and old but he had often looked that way over the past two years. Ron couldn't forgive the older wizard any more than he could forgive his own brother.

It didn't matter that Dumbledore had cared so much for...him, or tried to protect him. It was still over. Ron still wondered how someone as powerful as Dumbledore could be so fragile, bowing then breaking under the pressure that he hadn't.

Then, the memory of Remus Lupin came back and Ron sucked in a breath trying to block it out. That terrible, inhuman cry that rang out through Grimmauld Place. Lupin's face, his eyes, he had not looked like that when Sirius died, or when he returned covered with blood after killing that traitor, Pettigrew, a year ago.

James' son was dead and any remnant or memory of a better life died with him. Ron had no idea where the werewolf was now, the trauma of losing Harry had undone him.

Ron opened his eyes and gazed around the room, angry that it was so calm and still when he could barely focus enough to stand up. How dare things be so quiet when Ron couldn't breath right, it felt like iron bands were circling his chest, he hurt physically, he was scarred emotionally and yet he couldn't yet be angry at Harry.

It hurt too damn bad losing his best friend, the better half of the Dream Team was gone. The person that Ron had looked up to more than anyone else, had cared about more than anyone outside of his own family with the exception of Hermione Granger, his confidante, companion, dearest friend was now dead, buried and Ron didn't know how to keep going.

Physical ailments like aching, dizziness, nausenousness had kept him from eating but that wasn't the only reason Ron kept shaking. His mind refused to process a memory, any memory of Harry and had for several days. He wasn't ready yet, the shock hadn't worn off and the wound was still festering.

Why hadn't he seen it coming? What could he have done different? There had to be something, somewhere, that he could have done, no matter what Harry had told him. A time turner would make it right and he could find one and fix it as soon as he could find out where everything had reached a point where there was no turning back.

The thought that Ron could save himself from his own agony didn't cross his mind, that would mean he would never know Harry and he didn't want to punish himself like that. The pain was a reminder that Harry had lived and was more than just the title the wizarding world gave him.

Ron's dry-eyed stoicism had drawn criticism, maybe he was up here in this room to get away from it. He couldn't start crying, he didn't trust himself to let go, wondering what would happen.

Ron's hands suddenly gripped the windowsill he was standing in front of. And he remembered against his will...

_Ron entered the room, barely able to see in the poor light, a glittering Prefect badge in his hand._

_He glanced around, then with a sigh of disappointment turned around before he heard,_

"_Ron, wait." Ron turned quickly and peered into a corner._

_Harry Potter sat there, in front of his trunk, an open picture book that Ron had seen many times open in his lap._

_Harry's gaze, always focused and intense, seemed more so now and Ron wondered what had happened since Harry had gone upstairs to make it that way._

_Harry's skinny frame was shaking, Ron noted with surprise and his pale face looked...old. Ron gulped and tried to hide the bade in his large hand._

_Harry saw it and gave a half-smile._

"_Er, Ron...um, I know I haven't been in the best mood and all, but I think you deserve this, I really do. You, you're..." Harry sighed, his green eyes flashing behind his glasses._

"_Spit it out Potter" Ron smirked and Harry glanced up, grinning back._

"_You're not my sidekick, y'know that right? I, uh, aarrgh" Harry drove his hands into his hair, making it stand up even more._

_Ron took pity on his friend._

"_I know Harry, you think I want to be on the Ministry's most wanted list?"_

"_I'm not Sirius Ron" Harry smiled again and Ron was glad to see it. In the coming years he would be even more glad, it became more and more rare._

"_Well, I, uh...your mum and the Boggart, she..."_

_Ron raised a quizzical eyebrow._

"_I care about you, you're my best mate. I respect you and I hope we stay friends for a long time, your kids can play with mine, they'll go to Hogwarts together, torment Slytherins, your wife, whoever she is" Harry green eyes danced mirthfully at this and Ron shot him a nasty gesture which Harry snorted at._

"_Well, I hope we'll always be, friends, together."_

_Ron felt a strange tugging deep inside his chest and wondered at it. He looked at Harry for a moment and smiled, but it wasn't heartfelt. His words were, however._

"_I hope so too Harry, I really do. And, I already knew, what you said. I hope, um, you know too?" _

_Harry nodded and stood up, extending his hand._

"_Shake on it?" _

_They did and it turned into a brief, back-slapping hug. The lump in Ron's throat didn't go away for hours after that, however. And Harry changed after that year, he didn't talk about the future anymore._

Ron was crying, sobbing, without realizing it. That memory, of when he'd known that as much as he wanted what Harry had said, it wouldn't come to pass.

Ron wanted to scream at the injustice of it, he wanted to throw something, pound his fists against the wall, anything to feel pain on the outside instead of the hell he was experiencing on the inside.

But he didn't.

He grasped the windowsill as though it were his life-line.

He didn't want to hear Harry's voice echoing in his ears, still echoing through this house.

He didn't want to remember his best friend the last time he'd seen him alive, grabbing him in a bear hug and telling Ron that he loved him more than any brother he could have had, if only...

Yet, the memories of seven years were gaining on him. Harry, white-faced and shaking but determined to face Riddle one last time. The final time.

Harry hugged Hermione and kissed her on the cheek, whispered something to her and turned away to kiss Ginny in a way Ron had never seen Harry kiss any other girl.

Then he turned to his best friend and said, "Thank you, Ron."

Ron knew that if he'd known, he would have said something prolific, something to show Harry how much he'd meant to him, but maybe it didn't matter what Ron had said. It wouldn't have been enough but Harry always seemed to know, he knew then.

Then he was gone.

Harry was gone, Ron had let him go, hadn't protected him or convinced him to stay. Now, Harry was dead.

The best person Ron had ever knew, dead before he was eighteen years old. For a moment Harry's image slipped from Ron's mind and he panicked, not wanting to let his best friend go again.

The walls were suddenly closing in around him, Ron couldn't breath. Bile rose up in his throat and he grasped his hair in his fists.

He had to get out, he had to leave this place and his own wreck of a life.

It was all too much to take.

Harry was dead, his white face, peaceful at last, lying in a coffin was not what Ron wanted his last image of his best friend to be.

Small and too thin, always too thin, with that dark, messy hair, that was Harry. Green eyes full of life and emotion, no matter what kind. Always pushing his glasses up on his nose, always fidgeting and full of restless energy. That was Harry.

And a scar, Harry had a scar. His forehead wasn't that smooth, unblemished one that was buried three days ago. Gone in death, the way Harry had always wished it was in life.

Ron's choked feelings were coming to the surface. He turned to bolt from the room and stopped abruptly.

Arthur Weasley stood in the doorway, on thin hand resting lightly on the wooden frame.

Ron stared at his father, trying to determine how long he'd been standing there. He suddenly saw his father for the first time in days.

Merlin's Beard, since when had his dad looked so bloody old?

Arthur's face was grey-tinged, more streaks of the same color showed up in his thinning, red hair.

He looked like a stooped old man and Ron's bruised heart twinged.

Arthur didn't say anything because both father and son knew there was nothing to say. Arthur ran a hand through the small thatch of hair he still had. He had large bags under his hazel eyes which were over-bright.

An afternoon shadow showed, making his narrow face look thinner and more grim. He cleared his throat softly, looking at his youngest son with deep sympathy, confusion, pain, everything Ron himself had been feeling since Harry died.

Ron saw something buried in his father's eyes and remembered how much his parents had risked themselves by loving the Boy Who Lived. It wasn't just himself and Hermione who had taken that terrible gamble, and lost.

Ron wondered if Harry knew that Arthur and Molly loved him, he had such a hard believing that he wasn't alone in this world, especially after Sirius had gone.

All of them had tried and failed to hold onto him, now none of them would ever know what Harry wanted or knew.

Arthur cleared his throat again and swiped a hand across his eyes, his brow furrowing.

Ron felt hollow, the urge to leave was still overpowering. He tried to brush past his father but felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder.

"Ron, you...you need, to..."

Ron turned around ready for an attack, welcoming some relief from the tension slowly choking him.

Instead Arthur grabbed him in a crushing embrace. He just held him and Ron wasn't sure how to react.

He didn't have the heart to push his dad away, he really didn't want to actually. But the pain was still there, as raw and fresh as ever and Ron was afraid of it, afraid once again to let his emotion go.

"There should have been better memories for him, here at least." Arthur said softly, his voice thick with tears.

Ron froze, the pain forming as solid as an ice pick and stabbing him through the heart. And he finally knew.

Harry was never coming back. There were to be no more memories of him, this was all Ron got.

A sense of loss so terrible it left Ron breathless hit. He himself would get married and Harry wouldn't be there as his best man, as they'd planned.

Harry wouldn't be at the birth of his first child, or any of his children. Harry would never be their godfather. They were all cheated, him, Hermione, Ginny, Remus, all cheated out of a life with Harry in it.

No Harry to laugh and joke with. No Harry at Quidditch games, to moan about Hermione's cooking, to tease Dobby and give him his beloved socks, to play with Ginny's hair and gently love her the way she should have been loved from the beginning.

No more holidays, no more talks, nothing. An empty space where Harry needed to be was ripped from Ron and the wound would never heal, there could be no replacement.

Ron was frightened and his dad held him closer, sensing it as though Ron were just a little boy waking from a nightmare. But there was no waking up from this, Arthur knew, and he grieved for his son as well as himself.

It didn't matter that Voldemort was gone, he'd still won because he'd made their lives hell by taking Harry with him.

Life was going to stretch on and Ron's loss made his throat constrict.

Then he was screaming his rage and terror and that terrible, terrible loss and Arthur held onto his son trying to help him any way he could.

Ron screamed until he was hoarse, gripping the back of Arthur's robes until his fingers cramped.

After it was over, there were still no answers for either one of them, no advice could make the situation any better.

The sun finally set over the Burrow but would rise the next morning but father and son still held onto each other trying to hold off the darkness, even though hours later it was all that was left.


	2. Author's note for those who have nothing...

From the author;

Hey, if you don't like this, then don't review. Leave me nasty feedback and I'll report you. I'm sure not writing anything for anybody but myself so suck it up.

You know who you are and you are an idiot for wasting your own time.


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